


Sherlollipops - Last Hurrah

by MizJoely



Series: 221 Sherlollipops [35]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, One Night Stand, Oops that was my new boss I had sex with last night, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 14:58:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2233278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So over on tumblr someone posted a list of AUs they liked, and one of them was "One night stand before the first day of your new job and oops that was your new boss you were sleeping with AU" (it had been reblogged by thewinterspy, so credit there for bringing it to my obsessive little muse's attention). This was then born.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlollipops - Last Hurrah

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thewinterspy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewinterspy/gifts).



Sometimes Sherlock Holmes thought his older brother Mycroft’s favorite words were ‘prove it.’

_“I can finish uni, it’s just that it’s so bloody boring, Mycroft!”_

_“Prove it, Sherlock. Put your mouth where you want your money to be, as it were.”_

And he had; he’d finished his Chemistry program. With honors.

_“I can get a job, Mycroft, any job I want, matter of fact, it’s just too boring!”_

_“Prove it, Sherlock. Then perhaps I’ll release your full trust fund. But only if you hold the job for an entire year.”_

So here he was, one of the most brilliant minds of this or any other century, the night before his first day of work at a leading pharmaceutical manufacturer, stewing resentfully at the thought of how easily his brother could manipulate him just by using those two words. “Prove it,” he said in savage mimicry as he tipped his head back and moodily swallowed the remainder of his whiskey. “Show us what you can do like a good little trained monkey and maybe you can have what actually belongs to you one day.”

“Ooh, someone’s having a bad night. Fight with a relative or a girlfriend?”

Sherlock looked up, disgruntled that he’d not only been caught essentially talking to himself – a habit he abhorred – but also that he hadn’t heard the woman approaching before she spoke. She was pretty enough, he supposed, although hardly in the conventional, blonde-haired-blue-eyed-statuesque sort of manner. She was petite, would barely come to his chin if he was standing. Brown eyes, chestnut hair worn loose in a style he approved of, small busted and thin-lipped if he were feeling uncharitable, which he was. 

However, before he could reel off his deductions about her – cat owner, living alone, scientist or medical professional of some sort – one thing about her stopped him: her self-confidence. She wasn’t giving off the vibe of so many of the women in bars like this; there was no sense of desperation or self-consciousness or neediness. She didn’t appear to be chatting him up in the conventional sense, either; he heard both amusement and what might be sympathy in her voice as she stood there, in her strapless red dress, holding a glass easily in one hand. He watched as she sipped, then met his gaze frankly. “Well? Do I measure up or shall I just move along and leave you to your brooding?” she asked, with a twinkle in her eye and the amusement in her voice even clearer.

“Your place or mine?” Sherlock asked, rising abruptly to his feet, challenge in his gaze. Even if she wasn’t chatting him up, she’d more than caught his interest, and it had been years since he’d indulged himself with a sexual partner. _One last fling before a year of drudgery,_ he told himself, knowing he was being a bit arrogant but sensing that it wasn’t putting her off. On the contrary; he saw the challenge he’d just thrown down being accepted and met with challenge of her own as she downed the remainder of her drink and slammed the glass down on his table.

“Yours,” she said, then pulled her mobile out of the miniscule handbag dangling from her shoulder. She wasn’t inebriated beyond the initial mellowing effects of whatever alcohol she’d already imbibed; Sherlock was an excellent judge of intoxication, and so felt no compunctions about taking advantage of her clear interest in him. Neither one was taking advantage, which was good; in the morning she would be gone and they’d both be satisfied, he’d be damned if anyone left his bed without being thoroughly pleasured. 

“Address?” she snapped, waving the phone in front of his face.

“221B Baker Street,” he snapped right back. “The name is…”

“Don’t care.” She waved off his attempts at the minimal courtesy generally required when taking a woman back to one’s flat to shag, then flashed him a sly grin as she punched in his address…and a text message, presumably to a friend or relative so someone knew where she was in case he turned out to be a homicidal maniac. When he announced his deduction aloud, her sly grin became a hearty laugh, and she laid a hand on his shoulder. “Oh yes, you’re a clever one, I like them clever. But no, I don’t need to know your name and you don’t need to know mine, do you? Not for what we both want out of each other.”

“Agreed.” He rose to his feet and pulled her into his arms, dipping his head down to capture her lips – small, yes, but mobile and incredibly soft and yielding – in a demanding kiss. Just so that there were no illusions between them.

“Mmm, yes, I think you’ll do nicely,” she purred when the kiss ended. “Now call us a cab and get us back to Baker Street before I forget what a very public place we’re in.”

Sherlock had never utilized the cab calling app with so much haste; then he caught her tiny hand in his and tugged her to the entrance of the crowded pub, eager to see exactly how commanding she might be once he got her home…or if she was the type to take command everywhere except in the bedroom. Either way he knew he was in for a fantastic send-off to his old life, and last hurrah before the one his brother had forced on him.

Once safely ensconced in the cab he quickly discovered that his evening’s partner was definitely the type to cede control once she’d arranged things to her own satisfaction; she curled up against him but made no attempt to otherwise touch him until he tugged her face up to his for another kiss. Then she was all soft, yielding femininity, her hands on his chest, letting him set the pace of their kisses, but somehow never allowing him to take things so far that the cabbie felt obliged to chastise them about public indecency. 

When they arrived at the flat he threw the fare at the cabbie and tugged on her hand, pulling her into the building and pressing her against the door once it had shut and locked behind them. “Anyone we should worry about?” she panted after he’d thoroughly snogged her, turning her head so he could press fervent kisses to her throat as his hands slid up her body to cup her breasts.

“No flatmate, landlady’s elderly and most likely asleep by now, helped along by her ‘herbal soothers’,” he mumbled in reply, thumbing her nipples and pleased at quickly they pebbled into hard little nubs beneath the thin material of her dress.

She gave a snort of laughter; good, she understood the reference. Then her hand were tugging at his hair in a manner that he heartily approved of, directing his mouth lower so that he was soon mouthing the exposed tops of her breasts. He reached behind her for the zip to her dress, and she allowed it to drop to the floor, kicking it aside with one black-shod foot. She wore no bra and only the merest wisp of material for knickers; Sherlock eagerly bent his head to take one hard, pink nipple into his mouth, sucking and licking as she blindly undid the buttons to his aubergine shirt.

She was gasping and moaning as he cradled her breasts, thumbing whichever nipple wasn’t currently being sucked into his mouth, but then suddenly grabbed his wrists, tugging his hands lower on her body. Mmm, she was compliant, yes, but only up to a point; she was clearly a woman used to having things done her way.

Well, not tonight. He let her bring his hands to her hips but stubbornly left them there and no lower, no matter how hard she tugged. “Prat!” she gasped out as he lifted his head to give her an insolent stare. Then her hands were back in his hair, tugging wildly as he lowered his head to take her mouth in another searing kiss. Only then did he move his hands downward, slipping his thumbs into the elastic of her knickers – a thong, he realized as he slid his hands around to cup her soft little arse. Delightful. He slid the silky material down her thighs; she wiggled a bit, obviously working the knickers down her legs so she could kick them off, but he stayed her with a hand on her abdomen. “Leave them there,” he ordered, his voice husky as he dropped to his knees.

“Oh, God, yes,” she gasped, fingers grasping his hair again. She certainly knew how to work him up, just as he had a good idea how to work her up at this point. When his mouth landed on her pussy she made a delightful little mewl of pleasure, and he groaned out his own enjoyment of the wetness he found there. She was so ready for him, he could have simply slid his cock into her without any foreplay at all, but frankly this was one of the things he enjoyed most about sex with women; the musky taste and scent of them, the slick wetness beneath his tongue, the subtle hardening of the clit as he flicked it with his thumb, and how it stiffened beneath his lips as he sucked on it.

He loved the sound of her stifled moans, the sight of her teeth tugging at her lower lips when he glanced up at her face, how tightly her eyes were screwed shut, the way her blunt, unpolished fingernails were now digging into his scalp. He allowed his eyes to flutter shut as he worked her in earnest, easing her lower lips apart with his thumbs, then thrusting his tongue deep inside her. He wanted to hear and feel and taste her as she let go, as she came apart, and was swiftly rewarded by a series of short, sharp cries torn from her throat as she pulsed around him, legs trembling as she attempted to remain upright in the aftermath of the orgasm he’d just given her.

He didn’t give her time to recover, quickly undoing his trousers and pulling his cock free. “Condom?” he rasped, glancing at the handbag still somehow dangling from her shoulder. She nodded, face red, hair mussed and lips swollen from his kisses, then fumbled at the latch with shaking fingers. God, he loved this part, too, when he could see exactly how much of a wet mess he’d brought a partner to. Perhaps it was his long dry spell, but it seemed that she’d tasted even sweeter than any other woman he’d ever gone down. Was she the type to allow him to kiss her with the taste of herself still on his lips?

The answer to that question, it seemed, was a resounding ‘yes’; as soon as she’d dug out the condom and opened the package, she drew him in for another kiss, pulling away with a hungry smile as her hands busied themselves with his cock, her fingers running along his length teasingly until he finally let out a groan of frustration. “Just making sure you’re ready for me, love,” she replied, then expertly rolled the condom on. “So, right here against the door? Where anyone passing by might hear us?” she asked, looking far from dismayed at the thought. Daring him to say yes, he judged, and therefore accepted the implied challenge.

“Oh, yes,” he growled, lifting her easily, his hands cradling her arse as she locked her legs around his hips. He allowed her to position him, to give the nod when she was ready and then plunged deep, deep within her.

God, she felt bloody fantastic, tightening and loosening her vaginal muscles in time with his thrusts, doubling his pleasure and undoubtedly her own as well. He gave in to the urge to mark her, lifting her body slightly higher as she grasped his shoulders, sucking hungrily at her neck just below her right ear. She squealed and bucked, gasping out a strangled, “Fuck! Do that again!” and he did, sucking harder, feeling the tightness of her body as she approached a second orgasm. A bonus, that; he was more than pleased with how well he’d satisfied his mystery partner, and soon he’d be able to allow himself the sweet release his body craved.

Less than a minute later she was crying out and digging her fingernails into his shoulders, leaving crescent-shaped marks that would fade by morning, her legs tightening around his hips. Less than a minute after that, he was reaching his own peak, pumping furiously and then throwing back his head and letting out a hoarse cry of relief and pleasure.

Coming down from the high, he eased her body down so that she once again stood on her own two feet. He slipped the condom off and tied it, tossing it into the bin Mrs. Hudson kept by the front door, knowing it would be buried in other bits of rubbish before she could recognize what it was. And even if she did, he doubted that she’d take him to task for such antics, not when she’d been pressing him to find a girlfriend or boyfriend, someone to ease what she called his loneliness. Loneliness he didn’t feel, of course, but his landlady wouldn’t be dissuaded. She’d come into his life shortly after his parents had been killed in a plane crash on their way to America, and although he would never admit it, he secretly enjoyed her mothering ways.

While he’d spent those few seconds pondering his relationship with his landlady, his sexual partner for the night had busied herself readjusting her clothing, pulling on her dress, turning her back to him and lifting her hair so he could pull up the zip. “Not staying for seconds, then?” he asked, somewhat regretfully; he’d enjoyed their quick shag but had looked forward to a more leisurely bout in his bed.

“Unfortunately I have to get up early in the morning for work,” she replied, sounding just as regretful. He saw her eyes drift toward the staircase leading up to his flat, and knew it wouldn’t take much to convince her to stay.

However, he’d reconsidered; there would be the usual morning-after awkwardness if she stayed the night, and much as he wished to explore her petite form in further detail, it was probably for the best if they just left it as it was. After all, she’d not even wanted to exchange first names, so why put himself into a position to be hurt? Not that she could ever hurt him, he reassured himself hurriedly, certainly not after a single bout of lovemaking – er, sex – but still. It was best to be safe rather than sorry, and clearly she felt the same way. 

He of course did her the courtesy of flagging down a cab once she’d adjusted he hair and makeup and was presentable again. He also hesitated a moment before kissing her good-bye, a soft kiss to her cheek. “Thank you for a memorable evening,” he murmured, feeling her shiver a bit as he briefly squeezed her upper arms, and then released them, stepping back and smiling slightly.

She smiled back. “Thank you for the same,” she said, then entered the cab and disappeared, so he believed, from his life.

The next morning, however, when he stepped into the office belonging to his new supervisor at the pharmaceutical company, he found just how wrong he could be.

Sherlock stared at the woman seated behind the desk, head down as she scribbled something on a notepad, while her PA announced him. “The new chemist, Ms. Hooper. Sherlock Holmes.”

“Molly Hooper,” she said, still without looking, frowning down at her notepad. “Welcome aboard, Mr….Holmes…Oh!” she gasped as she finally stood and faced him, hand automatically extended in greeting. Her PA had already left the office after escorting Sherlock to stand between the two chairs facing the desk.

“I do hope that last night won’t prove to be…problematic…to our working relationship.” Sherlock raised an eyebrow as he smirked at her, rather enjoying her flustered reaction. Especially since he’d felt on the back foot ever since the PA had opened the office door. “I presume a transfer to another department might be in my immediate future?”

Although her – Molly’s – cheeks had pinkened a bit, she tilted her chin and gave him a challenging look. “I don’t know, Mr. Holmes. Are you one of those people who can’t separate their private life from their professional life?”

He smiled; once again, challenge accepted. “Not at all, Miss Hooper. I look forward to working with you.” Then he leaned forward and murmured, “And also to the possibility of our personal lives once again intersecting. Whilst away from the office, of course.”

“Of course,” was her cool reply, but her hand continued to hold tightly to his, and he rubbed his thumb over her knuckles before releasing her and stepping back. “You come highly recommended, Mr. Holmes,” Molly said as she settled herself back behind her desk, and indicated that he should sit as well. All business now that they’d acknowledged their indulgence in one another’s bodies last night. Good. Working for and with her would be far more interesting than he’d believed possible when he’d first been told who his supervisor would be, and the sexual relationship the two of them would continue outside the office – that was clearly the pact the two of them had just made – would provide a welcome respite from the tedium of corporate life for both of them.

Sherlock Holmes and Miss Molly Hooper, it would seem, were destined for one another.


End file.
